A Quiet Night and a Perfect End
by FFcrazy15
Summary: Takes place shortly after "The Life You Save." Charles questions Fr. Mulcahy about the existence of a hereafter. F*L*O*C*K 4077 piece.


Disclaimer: don't own, don't profit, no copyright infringement intended.

**M*A*S*H**

It was following a long and tired slew of wounded that I headed back to my tent, tired and sore. As I closed the door behind me and began to undo the fastenings of my collar, my mind wandered over the course of the day. It all seemed like such a blur… one long line of Last Rites, of oil and Hosts and Latin used so frequently it seemed imprinted permanently in my ears, a whispering behind the sounds of the night, all amidst the blood and rapid-fire demands of the OR…

My thoughts came to a quick halt at the sound of crunch gravel, and I looked over at the door, surprised. No one knocked, and so I wrote it off to imagination and a lack of sleep. I picked up my breviary for night prayers, and then stopped and, not so much on impulse as a feeling of obligation, walked over to the door and opened it.

Charles Winchester started and stared back, looking very much like a child caught listening at the door while the adults talked in private. "Er- good evening, Father, I- eh- I was just passing by and- well, I thought I'd say goodnight."

"Oh," I said, a little surprised, but not exactly trusting of his explanation. Something about his posture and expression told me that not only had he not just been 'passing by,' he'd also been debating whether or not to knock at all. "Well, I was just getting ready for bed-"

"Oh, then you wouldn't want to be disturbed. I see, well, I'll just go then…" He made as if to leave.

"Charles?" I said, as he turned to go. "Is there… anything you wanted to discuss with me?"

The doctor stopped. For a long moment, I waited, wondering if he'd take the leap. Finally, he turned around, not meeting my eyes. "Father, I was, ehm, wondering if we might talk a little?"

"Certainly," I said, gesturing for him to enter. "Come inside, please."

He followed me in and closed the door behind him, standing rather uncomfortably as if he were in a museum and not a cluttered old tent. "You can take a seat, if you like," I suggested, knowing he probably wouldn't otherwise.

"Yes. Thank you." He sat down quickly on my chair, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Would you like some tea? I'm afraid all I have is mint, but it's pretty good."

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

I poured myself a cup from the kettle on the heater and sat down on my bed, trying to figure out how to handle this. Different people respond better to different tactics; whereas with someone like Col. Potter I could be very blunt and get to the root of the matter, people like Charles or Hawkeye often required coaxing, and would start like a spooked horse if I tried to get to the point too quickly. "How are you?" I asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

"Oh- fine, I suppose. Yes, fine." He didn't sound so certain himself.

"Well, that's good," I commented. "You seemed a little troubled to me, but I suppose we're all tired. Especially you, seeing as you just got back from Battalion Aid a few hours ago."

My words seemed to unsettle him somewhat, and I hoped I hadn't pushed too hard. "Er- actually, that's what I wanted to discuss," he said, eyes looking anywhere but at me.

"Oh? Why?"

Charles hesitated, a very strange look on someone usually so sure of himself. "I… it's a long story."

"Well, I know a good listener," I told him, giving what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

He nodded and let out a nervous breath, as if trying to work up the courage to say something. "Father, I… well, I'll tell you up front, I'm not a man of religion myself. I never thought much about the hereafter; I always considered it just a pleasant nursery rhyme to please children and the weak-minded- no offense intended, of course."

"Oh, er, none taken," I said, thinking that only Major Winchester could possibly think calling someone 'weak-minded' didn't constitute offense.

"That is, until recently," he continued, and then pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I took it, surprised, and looked it over. It was an army regulation hat with a hole in it. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That," he said, looking at the piece of fabric, "Is the hat I was wearing during the sniper attack. I left it at Battalion Aid, but they sent it back. That hole came from a bullet that, had it been even an inch closer… would have ended my life."

_Ah…_ So that was what this was about. It would be lying to say I wasn't relieved; I see cases like this almost daily, of men who, previously unconcerned about their origins or matters of the afterlife, now find themselves facing life-or-death situations and agonizing over these very topics. "Charles, if you are wondering about the existence of a hereafter-"

"I wasn't finished," he cut me off, then, "Sorry, Father."

"Go ahead."

"You see, following the attack I went and questioned the patient who died on the table. He said he saw nothing, felt nothing- that he had no experience whatsoever of anything at all. And yet when I went to Battalion Aid, a young man who passed on there said he- he smelt baking bread. Was his tired brain merely trying to comfort itself? Was the other boy wrong? How- how can we possibly be sure of anything?" He stood up and began to walk back in forth. "And it's more than that. I never considered an existence of a Supreme Power to be of much importance, but now- I mean, if there is nothing after we die, absolutely _nothing,_ then does that mean my work is ultimately futile? That everyone and everything will eventually fade away? That nothing we do actually _means_ anything? Because if nothingness is our ultimate end, then doesn't that mean that life is therefore also pointless?!"

He was clearly working himself into a panic, and I was worried he'd start hyperventilating from fear, maybe even pass out, so I quickly stood up beside him. "Charles, calm down," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder and stopping his pacing. "If you give me a moment, I can answer some of your questions."

The surgeon stopped and stared at me, and then slowly settled back into his seat. "Alright," he said, still visibly shaken. "Go on."

"Charles, the questions you're asking is nothing new," I explained, sitting down again and folding my hands, leaning forward. "People have always asked these questions- is there a God, what is the point of us being here? Thankfully there are very logical, rational ways of deducing the answers."

"Please. If there was one rational proof for a deity I think I would have heard of it," he said, his normal condescension coloring his tone. I sighed inwardly, partially in relief to have a modicum of the old Charles back, partially in exasperation at that same fact.

"Believe me when I say that men much smarter than you or I have thought these questions through, at much more depth and time than either of us have put into it. Look around you, Charles; the whole world is a sign of the Creator. Logic indicates that there must be a God, and therefore a place or state at which He resides. To be fully in the presence of God is to be in Heaven."

"But what about the boy?" he asked, still looking deeply concerned. "The one who… said he saw nothing? Felt nothing?"

"Nobody knows for certain when the soul leaves the body," I explained. "I'm not a doctor, but isn't it true even scientifically that it takes an amount of time after the heart has stopped for brain damage to set in?"

"Yes, about three minutes; why?" he answered, confused.

"The boy wasn't gone, for lack of better word, anywhere near that long. It's very possible that the soul did not actually leave the body, and there's also the fact that he was under a heavy anesthetic. If this was the case, it very well may be he was not actually departed- not in the spiritual sense, at least."

For a long time, the Bostonian fell silent, thinking. Finally, he said, "This raises more questions than it answers, Father."

I nodded wryly. "That's the nature of faith."

"I'm still afraid, though," he replied, looking up at me. "One day- tomorrow, next year, maybe even decades from now, but _one day-_ death will come for me, just as it did for them."

I shook my head. "You say it with such fear, Charles. Perhaps that's the worst thing about this war; everyone is so afraid. What you see as something to be dreaded is for me a great comfort. Yes, we will all die, one day- and of course, we ought to live our lives with a healthy sense of self-preservation. But death is not something to be afraid of, not if you've done right by the Lord. It's only a door to the next life, not the gaping jaws of a monster ready to devour us."

"So you're… truly not afraid to die?" he said, sounding somewhat baffled.

"Well, I suppose everyone is, instinctively. But not of death itself, no. I believe that for me, it will be like going home- to a home more full and alive than any here on earth."

"Then... the young man at Battalion Aid..."

"He's at peace," I said gently. "Eternal and complete peace."

Charles swallowed hard, and I pretended not to notice the distinct sheen to his eyes. For several moments, he wasn't able to speak, and when he did, all he could say was a hoarse, "Thank you, Father."

I patted his shoulder comfortingly and reached over to my desk, picking up my old, worn Bible. "I want you to take this."

"Father, I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you can. Besides, I'll be able to find another one. The Lord always seems to provide in these matters."

He took it and ran his thumb along the cracked spine. "Thank you," he said again, his tone genuine. "You've… actually managed to put me quite at ease, Father."

"I'm glad I could be of help." We both stood, he still with the Bible in hand. "Have a good evening, Dr. Winchester."

"Yes, you as well." As he opened the door, he looked back over his shoulder hesitantly. "I was wondering if you- well, I know it sounds silly, but…"

I smiled. "I'll keep you in my prayers, Charles."

He returned it, albeit a bit awkwardly, before nodding his thanks and slipping outside again into the night. I turned back to my desk and reopened my breviary, sitting down in the chair. I read through the psalms and prayers, and when I got to the end, I took off my glasses and glanced skywards. "The Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end," I quoted softly aloud, smiling a little at the beauty of it all. "Amen."

Yes, death would come for us all, someday, and when it came for me, I would rise and run forward to finally meet my Lord face to face. But for now, I would have to settle for the quietness of the Korean night, and the knowledge that perhaps I had given another man that same hope of a perfect end.


End file.
